


Heart of Iron

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: If Thou Art Broken [6]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: A Story Within a Story, Gen, Ondra/Abydon (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 16:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15465780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: “Why are you even here?” She expects him to give her that irritating smile in reply, but she is too tired to care.“If you are to see this through to the end, to make it that far alive, you have to rest. I am here to perhaps help you fall asleep.”“Oh?” She blinks, taken a little aback by his honesty. “And how would you do that?”“With what usually works on annoying children,” Thaos says crisply. “By telling you a story.”





	Heart of Iron

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rannadylin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rannadylin/gifts).



> (Weekly prompt 50: tall tale.)

The ship rolls again and Eira groans quietly, curling into a ball and pulling the sheet almost up to her nose. It only makes things worse. The air is too humid and too hot, and she is still not used to sleeping under such a thin layer instead of woollen blankets and heavy furs. Nor is she used to sailing. So much for moon godlikes bringing luck at sea. Or perhaps it is simply a sign Ondra neither forgets nor forgives her prodigal children.

Or maybe it is because of the souls following her, quiet whispers right on the edge of her consciousness. Maybe it is the gap in her own soul, that feeling she is missing something. With each sleepless night, she wonders more often whether it is not her faith she is losing. Or maybe herself, finally, despite all? Maybe that is how it started with Maerwald, too – from uncertainty?

But… Perhaps she could get trapped in happier times. Or at least times when she did not doubt anything. She thinks back to that one life she remembers, when her faith was Durgan steel, and for a moment wishes she could have that certainty again.

She is tired; too tired, of everything. Not for the first time, she wishes that someone – other than just Edér – would offer help instead of asking for it. That someone would look deeper and see her doubts and say that should those never go away, she will still be fine. That someone would point out which of her fears are pointless, and explain why, and look at the fears that are understandable and reasonable and say she can face them.

Her friends and companions try to support her, but she often wishes for more than just jokes and hope that everything will be all right. Because it will not. And she needs someone to tell her that, and to say that is how life works, and that she will be able to go onwards anyway. To show her the way; one small step, and then another; to remind her of real, tangible, little things that can lead to a big change. To tell her that sometimes a small change is enough.

She knows all this, but still wishes someone would convince her. And every time she thinks that, she is instantly overwhelmed by guilt. Because doubting the coming of dawn is one of the greatest sins an Eothasian can commit. Despite that, she wishes someone would give her hope, as she tries to give it to people. Just a spark of hope for things that might actually happen.

Eira sighs, exhausted, wishing her mind would at least stop keeping her from sleep. She turns onto her back, stretching out her legs and throwing a hand over her head, one palm pressed against her forehead. Then, with great reluctance, she opens her eyes.

The cabin is flooded by moonlight. Whenever the ship moves, the specks of lights and shadows tremble and shift, creating an eerie impression that she is underwater. That does not help with her discomfort at all. As if she could ever forget she was in Ondra’s kingdom now.

She bites down another sigh. No, she is not going to give him another pretext to tease her. Or will he know anyway? Not for the first time, she wonders about their connection, about how much of her thoughts is he able to hear and see, and whether he told her the truth when she asked about that. Can he even lie, in this form? Then again, why not, when it is all in the soul, not in the flesh?

Eira shakes her head. No, this will lead her nowhere but down into madness. And what she needs is rest and a good night’s sleep. Or at least something to focus on.

“Thaos?” she calls quietly. There is no reaction, so she clucks her tongue and calls again. “Thaos?”

There is a quiet rustle as a shadow moves across the cabin and jumps onto the bed, giving a quiet meow as it lands. The cat scoots closer and curls up at her side.

Eira strokes his head and back. It comforts her somewhat to have another living being at her side, to feel the slight vibration when the cat purrs, to feels the soft, warm fur beneath her fingers.

“Good boy,” she whispers, scratching him behind the ears.

“Will you ever grow bored of this, I wonder,” speaks a familiar deep voice in her thoughts.

By now, she is so used to this it does not make her jump, but still she jerks. It is unnerving, that moment when she is not sure if what surrounds her is reality or another dreamscape. She turns her head; there is no one else in the cabin; nothing but the adra amulet lying on the small table.

Taking a breath, Eira closes her eyes and tries to relax. When she opens her eyes again, she is in her cabin, with the cat dozing off at her side… and a dark-haired, bearded man sitting at the foot of the bed, on the edge of the mattress.

“Will you ever grow bored of trying to scare me to death?”

“And why would I ever attempt anything like that?” Thaos’ eyebrows arch. “I’m here to ensure that you survive, Watcher… at least long enough to stop Eothas. Have you ever known me to be a fool who would undermine his own efforts?”

“Fair point,” she mutters. “But have I ever known you?”

“As if you did now…” A corner of his lips curves up in a small, mocking smile.

“I’ve never said that.”

They fall silent, only staring at each other. In the gloom, he seems younger than he really looks, even in this form – just an imprint of his body into the memory of his soul. He could even be called handsome, if she squinted.

“Why, thank you, my dear.” He replies, having heard her last thought. “And you are just as _radiant_ as ever.” Only he can make a supposed compliment so stinging, knowing how uncomfortable she is with being a moon godlike that has turned away from Ondra.

Eira groans. She does not feel up to verbal sparring, not tonight, and especially not with him. “Why are you even here? I was calling the cat, not _you_.” She expects him to give her that irritating smile in reply, but she is too tired to care.

Thaos watches her closely, suddenly all serious and thoughtful. “Were you?” he says at last.

“You didn’t answer,” she points out. She might have called him, too, because in some weird way, it feels safe to let him see her weakness; he does not rely on her, he does not need her to be inspiring. He _knows_ her failings; it makes no difference if she lets her doubts show, because he is already aware of them.

“If you are to see this through to the end, to make it that far _alive_ , you have to rest. I am here to perhaps help you fall asleep.”

“Oh?” She blinks, taken a little aback by his honesty. “And how would you do that?”

“With what usually works on annoying children,” he says crisply. “By telling you a story.”

She snorts quietly.

“Could you maybe put some effort into it, instead of just laughing?”

“Yes, yes.” That sounds like a silly idea, but Eira knows it might actually work. She curls up on her side again, glances up at the slight scowl on his face, then inhales and closes her eyes.

“Long ago,” Thaos begins, “on a clear summer night, the goddess Ondra looked out of the windows of her palace, and saw moonlight reflected in the water. Intrigued, she swam to the ocean surface and glanced up into the sky, and saw the moon’s face for the first time. And it was so beautiful she instantly wanted to have it.

“So she called out, raised her voice and then her hands, and the moon shook and fell down from the sky. It splintered and crashed into the land and the ocean, and the water rose up to catch it and covered the land. Her love was greedy and what was supposed to be a miracle ended with a tragedy.”

“I imagine she doesn’t like this story very much,” Eira whispers, without opening her eyes.

“She doesn’t,” Thaos confirms. “Now hush, and listen.

“Ondra did not give up so easily. She dove into the ocean, looking for the remains of the moon. But when she found a piece, it did not glow any longer. It was just another rock, grey and dull, without a trace of light in it. What was supposed to be an otherworldly treasure worthy of a goddess proved worthless when she tried to grasp it.”

Eira wonders if he is talking about the moon or about her, but very briefly. It takes only a few more words to make her melt into the pillows. He speaks in a low, soothing voice, which raises and falls like the waves, but in a different rhythm, and something in it makes her muscles relax and her thoughts float, and even the mention of Ondra does not bother her. Knowing Thaos, there is a reason why he chose this particular tale, but right now, she could not care less. His tone reminds her of another life, when he spoke to her about the gods – perhaps even told her this very same story – and taught her, and could always dispel her worries and doubts. This is exactly what she needs now, and of course he knows– and it is a blessing. Easier just to accept this, even with a bit of mockery here and there, than to have to ask.

“No matter how hard Ondra tried, she could not stop thinking of the beauty of the moon. She called up storms to vent her anger; how could a goddess of oblivion be unable to forget? Memory was Woedica’s domain, not hers, and Ondra felt she should have the power to wipe that image from her thoughts.

“She tried to find a reflection of the moon in gems, but none satisfied her. Diamonds looked like ice, quartz looked like water, moonstones were very pretty but too iridescent, white adra was not the right hue. Finally, when she has seen every gem on Eora, and her wrath and the storms subsided, she went to look for Abydon, hoping that the master of all crafts would be able to accomplish what nature could not.

“Abydon pondered her request for a long time, and then he went to his workshops and smithies. He forged a lantern, encasing one of Eothas’ stars in crystal, but the light was different, so he returned the gift to its owner and creator. He made a silver wheel set with various gems and precious stones, but it was too glittery. At last, he thought to use a piece of Ondra’s domain, in hopes it would be closer to the goddess’ heart.

“He carefully chose a few shells, shattered them, and put them together into a mirror image of the fallen moon, and fixed each piece onto another silver wheel. The Golem’s hands were not meant for such delicate work, but it was a labour of love. Old tales say that it was the most beautiful thing ever created by a craftsman. But Ondra barely spared it glance, for wonderful as it was, it was no moon, and for all its glimmer, it gave no light.”

His voice rises and falls like tidal waves, and Eira feels weightless, and strangely calm as she lets the rhythm of the tale keep her afloat. There are brief flashes of images as well, like moonlight reflected in the ocean, fleeting; she wonders if it is just her imagination, or if he is weaving those into her thoughts. She drowns in the pictures, soothing and pretty; a gallery of underwater miracles. A shape of a coral palace flickers in her mind, and then Thaos’ words draw her back into the story.

“So Abydon brushed the shell splinters and iron filings off his hands, and left the goddess’ house, letting Ondra grieve in peace. And it happened that some of those filings fell onto the shells growing in Ondra’s palace like wildflowers, and – by an accident or a miracle – a few of those landed inside. And, unnoticed, they grew.

“One day, the hem of Ondra’s seaweed gown caught on one of those shells. When she pulled, the shell fell onto the floor of her palace and cracked open. Inside, a tiny moon was glowing. Ondra carefully picked it, and then wept with joy, being able to hold at least the reflection of what she loved so dearly.

“She went to Abydon, to tell him of the discovery, and he recalled and recounted what had happened that day, and explained how that miracle began. They worked together, putting more metal filings and grains of sand into proper shells, and together they learned how to create pearls.

“The pearls that Ondra made herself were tear-shaped; those are the gems we know today as Tâ Ondra Tara. But the pearls they made together – iron and shell and ocean – those were round like the Wheel, flawless little moons that seemed to shine in the dark water.

“In time, Ondra perfected her craft, and no longer needed Abydon’s help, though she would still occasionally ask for it; maybe out of gratitude, maybe out of yearning. And those pearls, just like the very first created by Abydon in Ondra’s waters, did not stop growing until they turned into kith with moon in their eyes and hair made of light, and that is how moon godlikes were born – as a memory and mirror of divine love, in its many aspects.” There is a brief pause before he continues. “Living pearls, striking in their beauty.”

Eira blinks and opens her eyes, to find Thaos watching her. His stare is carefully blank, but a corner of his lips is curved up in a small smile of amusement.

“Thaos, are you...” She blinks again, in disbelief. “Are you flirting with me?”

The smile widens for an instant, and then disappears just as quickly. “No.” His eyebrows arch. “But I can, if that will get you to be quiet.”

She laughs softly, feeling the tension pour out of her. “Thank you,” she whispers, when laughter finally subsides into a smile. Her hand reaches out towards his, and he lets her grasp his palm and squeeze it briefly. “It was a beautiful tale, despite all.”

Thaos sighs in exasperation. “Now that you’ve had your bedtime story, will you finally go to sleep?”

“I don’t know,” she mutters playfully, very tired, but now relaxed enough to try and get more rest. “I might ask for another.” It is meant to be a jest, but she realises she would really like that, some other night.

“There is this lovely tale of Woedica…”

“Fine, fine!” Eira chuckles, raising her hands in protest. “Sleeping it is.” She pulls the sheet up to her chin. “Thank you for the story,” she mumbles as her eyelids grow heavy.

Still, she manages to lift them and glance at him. Thaos is watching her, his expression softer than usually; like in her memories, when she was one of his best and favourite apprentices, and he used to look at her with fondness.

For a moment, she wishes he would stroke her hair or touch her shoulder; for any form of physical contact – even if that would only be an illusion conjured by their thoughts. He keeps her company in her darkest hours, that is true, but a presence and a voice cannot quite bar the loneliness.

With another sigh, Thaos moves over on the bed, reaches out and lays a hand on her head, then starts stroking her hair. The pressure is light and ridiculously comforting.

And then she understands. He is not pleasant, he mocks and teases her, he can be ruthless and outright cruel in his choice of words sometimes… but despite having seen her at her weakest, he still accepts – all of her, everything. Even the most feeble and darkest parts, those facets her companions never see because she has to be inspiring – the tenets of her faith demand no less. And now, when doubts fill her so much more often than certainty – he understands because he has been there.

Eira closes her eyes. “Thank you,” she repeats, expecting an impatient huff in reply.

“Sleep.” His voice is quiet and soft, falling onto her soul, not just her ears – how is it that he can still do cipher tricks without a body? But then again, it is all in the _spirit_.

“Why that story?” she asks, half-asleep, but still clinging to consciousness, because later he might refuse to answer.

“Because you needed a reminder.” Thaos’ hand gently clasps her shoulder. “Next time, when your burden feels too heavy, don’t forget that at the core of your soul, you are iron.”


End file.
